


Under-Stimulated and Overeager

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Worship, Emotional Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Ghoul Sex, Making Love, Oral Sex, Touch-Starved, introspective, self-consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26700910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Summary: Hancock knows she needs a little extra attention than most. He knows it, ‘cause deep down, he needs it too.A/N: Day 5 of Kinktober! Kink: Touch-Starved <3
Relationships: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958581
Comments: 33
Kudos: 155





	Under-Stimulated and Overeager

John noticed there was something peculiar about the full-figured meat popsicle when he first saw the way her fingers twitched at the sight of Finn warming the wet cobblestones. She wasn't anxious about the blood, ‘specially concerning for a fresh vixen such as herself. The way she trigger her finger crooked and curled wasn't the kinda wiggle he saw in junkies either. It almost looked like she was fighting off sticky fingers, or some wild fascination with a corpse but for what or why, Hancock couldn't name at the time. 

Nora had about as many weird mannerisms from her pre-war days as he had empty mentats tins around the Statehouse - as he had pockmarks on his body. If it wasn't some lingo from the past she had to define, then it was an expectation of the world he couldn't stop laughin' at. Only a Commonwealth virgin would expect mercy or morality to be had between folks out here. It happened from time to time, but to say it was  _ expected _ was shootin’ yourself in the foot. 

That twitchy finger thing of hers showed up in other ways as he got to watchin' her during their little field trips outside Good Neighbor. When his eyes weren't glued to her bouncing backside, then they were hot on the ways she touched  _ everything _ . Like someone on a good juicer. 

She brushed her fingers inside handshakes too often for someone who claimed to be a defrosted ice queen. Ya can’t complain about germs one moment then finger someone’s dominant hand like it ain’t covered in all kinds ah’ trash, but that was Nora. 

Hancock would pause and watch the way she caressed cracked porcelain dolls, moldy weather-beaten walls, and any friendly living thing she ran into. Anything that didn’t have a knife at her throat got felt up and ‘cause touch was something few people felt on the daily, people let her.  _ Happily _ let her.

Even the infamously popular John Hancock got a little envious watching her touch everyone but him. Even those hard workin’ ghouls at The Slog got her attention, which proved she wasn’t no quiet bigot. Only time he experienced the soft pads of her fingers was when she’d helped dig buckshot outta his shoulder… which didn’t lend itself well to late-night dalliances with his own hand. And sure, he ran into a few old friends while he traveled with her, taking a good time where he could get it, but the whole  _ touch nonsense _ with Nora continued eating at him.

He realized real fast, she was an extension of her hands, but it wasn't just some peculiar impulse allotted for anyone but him… this shit ran deeper.

John prided himself on being a keen reader. He was for the people, of course, and that came with specific skill sets, but it took him until a night in a shabby repair shop while it rained rads for him to realize what her dealio was.

Sister was as touch-starved as a kicked puppy with attachment issues. 

Hancock realized it while the rain was burning through her duster and baking in her cheeks; lifting her temperature into the stratosphere. He hadn't even been looking for it then, too focused on helping her out of wet clothes and into the dusty depot where they could both dry off.

When he hit a bare dip in her throat with his tattered knuckles, she didn't pull away. Nora didn't withdraw or gasp or pretend she didn't feel the scratch of bony scar tissue. Instead of any expected response—no matter how hopeful it might have been—she stumbled into his touch. He was ashamed to admit it startled him enough that he opened a palm around her throat, mostly just to keep her from fallin' smack dab into him but also… to keep her away from him, knowing she didn’t really wanna dance like he did. It was that moment that he realized she was sick for a little attention… a little touching… and a little more than all that… and if she wanted it from him, well… he was just a man under the zombie getup after all.

Inside his hands, she melted like any broad before he went ghoul did, as if the dead-look didn’t bother her one fucking bit. To say it wasn’t flattering, would be an understatement. Even the people he had his own dirty alliances with still made him feel like a monster, but not her.

Touching Nora was like touchin' someone four jet canisters deep with a solid side of medx tenderizing their nerves. She was hot with just a few wet kisses to her throat—shakin' with a couple possessive strokes down her thighs and weeping by the time he was nuzzling against the plush, sweet-smelling skin of her belly… moving lower and… and lower…

Usually, it didn't take much more than a little attention to the details to make women pray to God in this position. Some backward ABCs with a tongue and a couple crooked fingers angled right where the magic spilled always got enthusiastic cries outta the usual, but Nora… hell, she didn't take much at all.

Lesser men might let that go to their head, but John only felt a bony ache in his chest as she trembled to completion a few tongue wags in. The girl was too tender. She needed so much that just an inch must've felt like a fuckin' mile. 

He gave her swollen clit a playful smack of his lips to lighten the mood, but she was still curled up—hands over her face—and shakin' like a flag in a rad storm. The rain outside pelted down over the thin, makeshift roof, but even with all the damn noise, John heard her sniffling away tears; too overwhelmed maybe.

"Hey, come on now, sunshine." 

He threw on his most charismatic leer, running a mottled hand up the side of her neck to where a rigid palm covered one half of her face. For a second, an ugly wave of disgust washed over him. To see her covering up something so beautiful with that perfectly-boned hand and then his own hand—ruffed up with bubbled scarring and uncoordinated shades of melanin—touching her like this…

"... who ya hiding from, sweetheart?" A nasty voice said she was hidin' from him.  _ She's hiding from you, fucking rad freak. Rotten zombie with nothing to give but drugs, dick, and a tongue... _

"I'm sorry, John."

Hancock blinked back his own sour self-hatred and gently peeled her hand off her face. A rosy, swollen cheek greeted him, then a single drooping eye of sapphire smothered in thick tears. Her lashes parted slowly as she looked up at him. "I'm sorry… it's just-"

"Don't gotta soften the blow if that's what you're up to. Ghouls like me got thick skin," he said, injecting an ounce of lighthearted banter at the end which he'd gotten real fucking good at over the years.

Nora removed her other hand from her face without needing him to pry it off, but there was something in her eyes that unsettled him. Not for nothing, but the last time someone looked at him like that, it was his own mom. Circumstance or the situation at the time eluded him now but-

Her palms—soft and damp with sweat and tears—cupped the sharp, rough skin around his jaw. John leaned in greedily without thinking, suddenly wondering who was who. Nora was the one that needed a little lovin', not him. It was her that needed some release and a smidge of affection to seal it all in.  _ Not him… _

It wasn't him craving just a graze of a thumb or a kiss to feel like a shot of dope. For someone to hold him without wanting nothin’ in return.

Her lips lingered over his for a breath and a half, but Hancock felt it like eons rolled up and boiled down into milliseconds. Before she could pull back, he fell into her—arms tight around her arms and back—pulling her in… spreading his lips for more contact. He needed more warmth and whatever that taste on her lower lip was. He needed  _ her _ .

"John-" It wasn't that  _ 'please, stop _ ' whisper he heard from late-night hookups that liked his cock and tongue where it made 'em feel good, but nowhere else. This was a weak, breathless whimper like the kind he thought about when he was truly gone and high—when all the walls came down, and John could fantasize about what he truly wanted. John wanted Nora to say his name like that while at the same time trying to climb inside him through a simple, life-affirming kiss.

He was touch-starved… just like her. Maybe more so if he had time to think about it, but her hands were crawling beneath his frock and frills, massaging the gaunt expanse of his chest and lower. 

John didn't have time to wallow because the rad storm was coming down harder, and Nora was rolling him over on his back. Her tongue was flicking his own, cleansing away layers of superficial needs and lies. Years of telling himself  _ 'this is enough' _ came up under her lips… but he had to know…

"Are you' ah… you feelin' this too, sunshine?"

The second Nora nodded—moist lips slipping up and down his—the whole world brightened. Her arms wrapped around his thin ribs, pulling him close, and John melted. No amount of self-loathing could cut through this. Ain't no self-conscious vibes could wash away the heat her touch worked into him. Like little ripple effects, everything that came in contact with her seemed worthy of love… an’ after all these years John realized it was true. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. All typos are my own. If you have time, please let me know what you think. <3
> 
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